Lions, Tequila, and Beer, Oh My!
by SweetandUnknown
Summary: "'Let's never drink again,' you say, kissing her cheek. / 'Well… I feel like that's rather drastic.' / 'Okay, well not never. Just… Let's just do this for a while,' you say, watching as her hand slips under your shirt and trails her fingers gently over your stomach." – one-shot, part of the Wine Coolers series, college!Faberry, lion!Quinn, Rachel's POV, summer after freshman year


Summary: "'Let's never drink again,' you say, kissing her cheek. / 'Well… I feel like that's rather drastic.' / 'Okay, well not _never_. Just… Let's just do this for a while,' you say, watching as her hand slips under your shirt and trails her fingers gently over your stomach." – one-shot, part of the _Wine Coolers _series, college!Faberry, lion!Quinn, Rachel's POV, summer after freshman year

Rated: M (definitely M this time…)

A/N: So, once again, I couldn't resist a little prompt by scardiesloth on Tumblr. You should follow her because she's really cool. Anyway, she wanted a Lion!Quinn fic, and although I'm not too familiar with most Lion!Quinn headcanon, I decided to go for it. This fits in with the _Wine Coolers_ series, and since I'm almost out of boozey titles, this will most likely be the last in the series. You'll also notice a brief cameo of a character from _Why the Wind Goes – _he exists in both headcanons because I like him. This is also the smuttiest thing I've written, so bear with me with this one. Thanks for coming along for the ride. Find me on Tumblr and harass me to update _Why the Wind Goes _or whatever.

* * *

**Lions, Tequila, and Beer, Oh My!**

* * *

"You can't be serious," Quinn says, shaking her head at you.

"I am absolutely serious. You didn't think it was necessary to tell me you kissed him?"

You're drunk. You know this. You went out to a few bars in New Haven with your fake IDs and some of Quinn's upperclassmen friends, and when her very handsome musician friend Pete revealed to you that he and Quinn kissed during their first semester, something in your heart ached. You acted like it was no news to you and proceeded to swallow down five vodka tonics.

Now you're back in Quinn's dorm, grateful that her roommate is perpetually at her boyfriend's apartment. You know that the ache in your chest is just some tenderness, but in your intoxicated mind it feels like something is fractured.

"It didn't mean anything, Rachel."

"You couldn't kiss me some drunken night outside Noah's, but you could kiss him at some frat party?"

"I was just getting to know him then, and don't even try to compare that to us. You _know_ why I waited."

You hate how she runs her hand through her hair and rolls her eyes when you're trying to make a point. You hate how she plays nice, how she holds back because of high school guilt even though you've forgiven her incessantly since you've gotten together. You hate even more that sometimes she doesn't let you forgive her, that she believes she doesn't deserve it. But right now, you mostly hate that how steady her voice is, that you can't justifiably raise yours.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"When is a good time to say, 'Hey, I drunkenly made out with my friend and it meant nothing'? I didn't think it was a big deal. It's not like we were together. It's not like I was asking you to wait for me."

"I feel like I was always waiting for you!" You aren't sure if you're more pleased or saddened by the way Quinn clenches her jaw at this. "There are some things you need to tell me!"

"Rachel, relax."

"You know I hate that."

"I'm sorry. But-"

"But? This isn't even considering that _asshole_ who was all over you tonight."

"Who are you even talking about?" Her face is flushed, and you aren't sure if it's the alcohol or her frustration. Normally you like when her cheeks are rosy, you like pressing your lips to the warmth, tracing a path down her neck so you feel her pulse hum. At this moment in time, however, you want to grab her shoulders and shake the color from her face.

"Dylan or whatever. Or Devin. I don't know, but the point is that you didn't do anything."

"Because I wasn't paying any attention to him! Do you want me to slap everyone who just looks at me?"

"Maybe," you mutter.

Quinn sighs, and you glare because she does these little things instead of saying words sometimes. Quinn has her off days, days when she distances herself from you because of the days everyone alienated her to protect themselves; she thinks she's protecting others from herself.

"Just say something!"

"Why are you being so aggressive right now?!" Quinn bursts. "You were on edge when I was in New York last weekend, and now _this_ is happening. What did I do?"

"You are impossible sometimes."

Another sigh. "Let's just change and go to bed. I don't know how to talk to you like this."

"I'm sleeping in your roommate's bed tonight," you say, crossing your arms.

"Rach…" she whines in that tone. She's a moment away from pouting, so you look away. It's not fair that she can do that, that she can use the streetlights seeping through the window, cast it in hazel, and make your heart rate speed up, reminding you how alive you are together.

"I don't feel like squeezing into your twin bed tonight."

Quinn goes to her closet to change in the corner. You turn away from her and pull off your clothes. Once you're in your pajamas, you examine her roommate's bed. It's disheveled, as always.

"She hasn't changed the sheets since I walked in on her and Ryan having sex the other day," Quinn comments as she gets into her bed.

You cringe at the thought.

"Come on," Quinn says, patting the empty side of her bed.

"Fine," you grumble, scooting in beside her, but keeping a few inches between you.

You push her arm away when she tries to put it around you, and you feel her huff against the back of your neck. "When we're sober, we're talking about this," you mumble against the pillow.

"Fine," she agrees, and it's a sigh again. You really hate how she can breathe words. She always plays with the light and air around you, and when you drink, sometimes it feels like too much of your world belongs to her.

* * *

When you wake up, your head hurts and you scoot back, hoping to feel Quinn press into your back, wrap her arms around you like she normally does when you wake up. Instead, you find the space empty. If you weren't in her dorm room, you'd be panicking.

Okay, so you still are panicking. You sit up so abruptly you feel nauseous.

"_Oy vey_," you grumble, putting your head in your hands.

You look up when you hear keys in the door and smile when Quinn walks in.

"Hey," she says gently, giving you a half smile.

You recall last night and frown, mostly at your behavior as you recall your harsh words.

"I got coffee, and these," Quinn says, sitting on the side of the bed, placing the coffee on the bureau and presenting you a small bouquet of lilies.

"Oh, Quinn," you say with a pout, leaning in and smelling them. "You shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry," Quinn says, raising her hand, silently asking if she can touch you. You lean toward her, and she gently runs her hand through your hair, "I should've told you about what happened with Pete."

You shake your head, "It was stupid of me. It was my own drunken drama," you confess quietly, raising your hand to cover hers as she caresses your neck. "I guess… I just see you with these amazingly smart people, and sometimes when I look at you, I have no idea why you're with me. Last week, I imagined you moving to New York," she smiles at this, but you know yours reveals the melancholy in your epiphany, "and I looked around at the city and realized how much it had to offer you. What if you get there some day and find someone better?"

Quinn laughs as she shakes her head. She places the flowers beside the coffee and tackles you into the bed, kissing your cheeks and neck repeatedly.

"For someone so smart and beautiful and talented, you can be so dumb," Quinn mutters against your collarbone, playfully biting at it before moving up along your body, her hair falling to the sides of her face, a canopy around you. "I kissed Pete when I was drunk because it was _easy_. I was waiting for a moment when I could kiss you sober, but after I kissed him, I thought I'd never have the gall to kiss you like I wanted," she leans down and kisses your temple, where a small tear escaped and left a trail, "That night you visited, I made the mistake of listening to Santana's advice, so I'm glad you didn't let me kiss you." She skims her lips over yours, then places a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth.

"Me too," you say, turning your head and smiling into another kiss. When she pulls away you pout, "I don't want to waste this summer getting into drunken arguments."

"I know. Me neither," she says, snuggling into you.

"Let's never drink again," you say, kissing her cheek.

"Well… I feel like that's rather drastic."

"Okay, well not _never_. Just… Let's just do this for a while," you say, watching as her hand slips under your shirt and trails her fingers gently over your stomach. You laugh lightly, slapping at her hand before she flattens it there, her thumb moving back and forth against the underside of your breast.

"A month," she says, dragging her lips from your neck to your sternum.

You nod. "How about June?" you suggest, starting to lose your train of thought when she straddles one of your legs, lifting her hand to cup your breast, lightly licking the space just beneath your earlobe.

"So just over a month?" she says into your ear, her fingers circling your breast.

"We'll find other vices," you suggest, smirking when you lift your leg to meet her center, satisfied with her resulting moan.

"Sounds perfect," she hums. It's amazing how she does that – how she can say a few words and you're falling for her all over again, making your heart burst and her picking up all the pieces. She always picks up the pieces, and you've realized how wonderful it is to feel whole.

* * *

"I can't believe you trusted her with scissors. You have seen how she does her hair, right?" Santana comments over breakfast.

You smack her with the oven mitt before you pull the kettle from the stove. Quinn gives her a brief glare before she just shrugs and eats her fake scrambled eggs. You know she sneaks bacon when you're not together, but you never say anything. Quinn is a bit of a carnivore, so you appreciate that she abstains when in front of you.

"It's less work this way," Quinn explains as you sit beside her, handing her a cup of tea.

You run your hands through Quinn's shortened locks, and you chuckle when she pretends to bite at your hand. You lightly pull at her mane as you lean closer and whisper, "And still long enough to pull."

"Gross," Santana comments with her mouth full of toast.

You turn to Santana and ask, "When are you leaving again?" feigning a smile.

Santana and Brittany are getting together to go visit Brittany's aunt's in Michigan. Since Sam and Brittany broke up, Santana has been "taking it slow," meaning Brittany isn't sure about a long-distance relationship again and Santana is shrinking the distance between them as often as financially possible.

"Three hours and I'll be out of this sex den," Santana says, aggressively biting her toast. You desperately hope Brittany decides to give it another go with Santana so she doesn't come back and murder you and Kurt.

Kurt got into a small summer program abroad with NYADA. He'll return by the first of June with Santana, a date you decided would be a good time to celebrate and break your sobriety with Quinn.

Quinn sips from her tea, but eyes Santana until she huffs and gets up from her seat, taking her breakfast with her back to her room.

"What was that for?" you ask with a grin, running your hands through Quinn's hair again, ruffling it so it looks the way it did this morning after you pulled at it when her tongue found a rhythm that had you moaning.

"So I could do this," she says, leaning in and kissing you sweetly, "without fake vomiting noises."

"Mmm," you hum, "Good thinking."

"Swear to god, if you fuck on that table when I'm gone!" Santana calls from her room, the thin walls and curtains allowing her voice to travel.

"How have you not murdered her in her sleep?" Quinn asks, scowling as if she's contemplating an actual homicide.

"Rent," you say with a smirk, kissing away Quinn's frown.

"Three hours can't come quick enough," she says, running her hand up your thigh.

"Then we have a whole week together. Just the two of us."

* * *

The first few days is a haze of sweat and hands and limbs and the taste of Quinn never leaving your mouth for long. You do manage to go out, but it reaches a point where you can hardly keep your hands off each other.

When she's around you, you constantly feel your face flush when you think about the sounds she makes when you first slide your leg between her thighs, or the way she cants her hips to meet your mouth when you first slide your tongue over the thin fabric of her underwear. These thoughts have you crossing your legs throughout dinners and subway rides together, so as soon as you set foot in your apartment, you start pulling her clothes off.

You've become rather obsessed with having sex with your girlfriend, and she seems just as enthusiastic.

By day four, you've calmed down a bit. You got some coffee and snacks from Whole Foods, ate in Union Square park, and then you got to watch Quinn run around the Strand bookstore like a child on Christmas. Afterward, you had a nice dinner at the nearby Asian fusion restaurant.

You huff as you roll over in bed for the tenth time.

"What's the matter?" Quinn mumbles, her eyes closed as she lies beside you, lifting her arm and motioning for your body to return to hers.

"It's too hot."

"No, you're just restless."

The small air conditioner you have in your room manages to cool the room enough to allow snuggling, but you're not looking forward to the electric bill next month.

"Why did I have that coffee after dinner?" you say, giving in and moving closer to try and cuddle into Quinn's side.

"Because we aren't drinking and you drink coffee like water anyway?"

You look at her and smile, running your fingers through her short hair. She hums, keeping her eye closed. You press your lips to hers affectionately. When you pull away, she opens her eyes, blinking a few times to focus on you.

"You're not going to sleep, are you?" she asks with a yawn.

You shake your head.

She sits up, rubbing her face as if wiping the sleep from her eyes, then gets out of bed. "Do you want some water?"

You nod, and she just gives you a sleepy grin before trudging out of your room to the kitchen. You decide that you will always admire the way Quinn's body moves, even when fatigue claims her limbs. The green boy-shorts and blue tank-top without a bra is a nice touch.

Ten minutes later, she's back with Kurt's French press and a mug, as well as your water.

"C'mon," she says, nodding toward the living room.

You grin as she disappears from the doorway.

"What are we doing?" you ask, watching Quinn put the French press down on the coffee table and begin looking through your DVD collection.

"If you're going to be wired, I figured I should be too."

You take a seat on the couch, again appreciating the view.

An hour later and you're both caffeinated. Quinn found Santana's secret stash of Disney movies, so The Lion King is on as you both play Scrabble. Despite Santana's attempts to hide her children's movies, you know she watches them with Brittany over Skype or puts them on when she's sad to remind herself of the blonde. Quinn has since then confirmed that Santana's collection of Disney movies exceeds what's imaginable, but she left most in Ohio.

You throw a Scrabble piece at Quinn when she ends up watching the movie more than playing. Quinn just smiles at you, then puts down "QUEUE," hitting a Triple Word Score square. She's destroying you, and part of you is bitter that someone who talks half as much as you has twice your Scrabble score.

You both take a break to sing along to "Hakuna Matata," fueled by another cup of coffee each.

"Oh god, I need water," Quinn says as she flops onto the couch. "My heart is exploding."

"I tend to have that effect on people," you say, giving her a wink.

She rolls her eyes, giving your thigh a light slap before getting up and walking to the kitchen.

* * *

"Thank you, thank you!" Quinn says, bowing to the imaginary audience after having successfully beat you in Scrabble – 592 to 290.

"Whatever, nerd," you say, sticking your tongue out at her as you pack away the Scrabble set.

"You're just jealous I'm the Scrabble King of Pride Rock," Quinn says, hopping up onto the arm of the couch, raising her fists triumphantly.

You laugh because highly caffeinated Quinn is absurd. You lick your lips when you see her shirt rise up, revealing her toned stomach as she balances on the couch in front of you. You smirk when you poke her stomach, and she falls back laughing immediately.

"What a tough king!" you say, jumping on top of her and continuing your assault.

"Everything the light touches is mine!" she squeals between loud bouts of laughter, beginning to pinch at your sides, making you squirm.

You grab her hands and hold them above her head, hovering over her with a mock expression of intimidation. You can feel her breath on your face, and she smells like coffee and lilies. "Pinned ya," you say quietly with a grin.

She doesn't resist, simply smiles that smile she saves for you and whispers, "C'mere," so you lean down and kiss her.

* * *

You wake up to Quinn trailing kissing along your neck and shoulder.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," she whispers in your ear.

You stretch your arms over your head and yawn, "What time is it?" you ask, blinking the sleep away.

"Noon."

"I've never slept this late," you say. It makes sense, though. You did stay up until five in the morning. Part of you fears Santana's sex sixth sense will kick in and she'll know what you and Quinn did on the couch, but the other part of you could care less. "Where are you going?" you ask as Quinn hops out of bed.

"I woke up half an hour ago," she says, reappearing a few seconds later with a tray. She sets it on your lap and you see she's made some fake scrambled eggs with fakin' bacon in the shape of a smiley face, as well as some fresh fruit salad and toast. "I made some Rooibus because I figured we might want to take it easy on coffee today."

You lean over the tray to give her a quick peck on the lips, "You're the best."

"Well, I am the Scrabble King of Pride Rock," she says with a bright smile.

Quinn reads the Village Voice as you eat your breakfast. She ate before you woke up, but she lets you feed her some strawberries and orange slices on occasion. When you're finished, you're about to get out of bed when Quinn takes your hand.

"Can we talk for a second?"

You swear your heartbeat mimics screeching breaks. You swallow and try to breathe easy when she smiles at you. You nod and settle back in beside her.

"I'm glad we didn't drink this past month," she says, and you can tell she's nervous by the way she licks her lips, but her eyes refuse to leave yours, "I mean, we're in college and it's easy to drink and find liquid courage. I do love getting absolutely wasted with you because you're fun in any state," you both laugh lightly, "But I wanted the real kind of courage to tell you that… you are so incredibly important to me. Everything we do together is special. I know our timing hasn't always been the best, but I think I've been waiting to tell you this since the first day I saw you. Instead I was afraid for the longest time, but I'm glad we waited. I'm glad we're here together now because… I love you, Rachel. I love you so much."

It's the first time she's told you she's loved you. Three words that grace every play you've ever seen, in almost every song you've ever sung, and yet, in this moment, there has never been a voice more magical and musical than Quinn's.

"I love you, too," you say, and when tears cloud your vision, you swear the sunlight was meant to make Quinn look like an angel.

You let them fall as you close your eyes and Quinn's lips find yours. Even in the darkness of closed eyes, everything is light.

* * *

"Four tequila and Tecates!" Santana shouts over the loud music in the bar. The tattooed bartender nods, giving Santana a once over. She gives him a wink and a smile, and you know she doesn't like guys with beards, but she'll most likely score everyone a free round later.

"Twenty-eight, darlin'," he says, cracking open each can at record speed and dropping four shot glasses down in front of you and pouring the tequila.

"Can we get salt and limes?" you ask Santana.

She simply rolls her eyes and leans over the bar a bit, "Short stuff here needs some crutches."

You glare at her, but she blows you a kiss and laughs after the bartender nods knowingly, some inside joke between them. He places salt and limes in front of you. You raise your hand and run your fingers through Quinn's hair, and she raises an eyebrow at you when you pull her head down and lick the area between her neck and shoulder. She tastes like floral tea and summer.

"I had ulterior motives," you say into her ear before you sprinkle some salt on the wet patch of skin.

"Sometimes I can't even look at you two," Kurt says, picking up his shot glass and looking at it with distrust.

Quinn kisses you on the lips briefly before licking your neck as well, then adding salt.

"We're going to have to fumigate the apartment," Santana says to Kurt, cringing as she looks at you and Quinn.

"You might want to change your sheets, too," Quinn says with a sly grin.

Santana blanches as you laugh, handing Quinn her shot and picking up your own.

"You better be joking," Santana says, pointing at Quinn. She just shrugs, earning her a glare. "Anyway! To a night of debaucheries!" Santana says, raising her shot glass.

"To the end of our sobriety!" you shout.

Some nearby drunk girls cheer along with you because everyone in Williamsburg on Thursday night likes supporting everyone determined to get properly wasted. You and Quinn lick the salt off each other's necks, and you laugh when you feel her give your skin a little bite. You throw back your shot and do your best to make your face slightly less reactive than Kurt's.

"Didn't I say I was never drinking tequila again?" Kurt says to you before shoving one of the lime slices in his mouth.

You just shake your head as you bite into yours and chuckle.

* * *

It's Lady's Night at the bar, so there are about ten women to each man, as well as many attractive gender fluid people decked out in their finest hipster attire. The bar is hot and crowded, strangers grinding up against each other's bodies on the dance floor. You're happy to have Quinn by your side after getting groped by an admittedly attractive lesbian on your way to the bathroom.

After a second round of drinks (at half price), you all move to the outdoor space once you finish your second set of drinks, hands now occupied by fresh beers.

"Why do we keep drinking tequila?"

"Because, _idiota_, it's the liquor of my people," Santana drawls, sitting beside him at the table.

"You're not Mexican… Whatever," Kurt says, shaking his head, "Someone help me find the one gay man that's at this bar right now," he says, looking around for any sign of an equally well-dressed man.

"Good luck with that," Santana says, sipping from her beer.

"Why don't you get your mack on?" Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows. You're happy that Santana doesn't smack him because you all found out that despite a hook up on the trip with Brittany, the blonde still won't commit to a long-distance relationship until she hears back from the New York dance academy about a spring semester acceptance. "Look, she's hot. Not so sure about the leather vest in this heat, but she looks… alternative."

You follow his gaze and see a girl with long, dark red hair donning a tight black skirt, white v-neck and studded leather vest. You kind of hate her for wearing such a ridiculous outfit and making it look sexy. Perhaps it's the shaved side of her head and septum piercing that screams _badass_.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Kurt says, nudging Santana when the red-head looks her way and gives her a smile.

You almost laugh, but swallow it down with some beer when you see Santana blush and look away.

"I can handle lesbians in packs of five, not fifty," Santana says, avoiding eye contact with a group of lesbians that pass by the table.

"I can wingwoman!" you say excitedly.

"Yeah, because a Keebler elf really sets the mood," she grumbles.

Quinn reaches across the table and smacks Santana's arm. "Watch it," and she turns back to you, "and you aren't going to wingwoman anyone."

You pout, "Why not? I've always wanted to help someone in their sexual exploits."

"That's exactly why you can't," Kurt says, but quickly drinks once Quinn directs her glare at him.

"Typically the wingman sleeps with the friend of the person they're hooking their friend up with," Quinn explains.

"Ohhhh…" you say, giggling at Quinn's hard expression. You see she's looking behind Santana, and when you turn to look, your eyes meet with an attractive Asian woman with short hair and a dyed pink streak in her bangs. You roll your eyes when Quinn puts her arm around you, and you just kiss her on the cheek. "Don't be silly."

"We're not silly enough, if you ask me," Santana says, standing up from her seat and wiggling around her empty can. "No-boys-n-berry, come help me carry out the next round."

* * *

"No way! You're a shoo-in for the fall semester play!"

"It's so competitive," you practically whine. You tossed sobriety out the window after the bartender gave you and Santana a double shot of tequila. You can't get rid of the sweet after taste of the booze and limes, but you continue to drink your Tecate.

"Hey, I was just looking for you."

You turn and see Quinn, her hair all ruffled from being inside dancing, her voice raspy from shouting over the music.

"Quinn! I bumped into Maria, and we came out here to talk! We were in a writing composition class together last semester at NYADA," you explain with a grin.

"Pleasure," Quinn says tightly, shaking the girl's hand.

You almost think she resembles high school Quinn, holding a fierceness in her gaze, telling Maria to back down with a friendly smile on her face. But it's different now – strange, really, to know the fears and kindness behind what seem to be gold-more-than-green eyes at the moment. They flash dangerously when Maria only smirks in response. Ohio never prepared Quinn for New York attitude; Maria was born and raised in Brooklyn.

"You wanna go dance?" Maria asks, looking at you directly.

"Um, sure," you say with a shrug.

Quinn gives you a quick look of disbelief before nodding. "Kurt found some guy to grind up on, and Santana just did a shot with Red-Head," she explains as you all make your way into the bar. You turn to take her hand, and you see her eying Maria like she's crossed into her territory. You give her hand a squeeze, and you can see the green in her eyes again when she gives you a smile.

You find Santana dancing with the red-head, and she pulls you over to join. There's no point in trying to talk as the speakers blare nearby. You like tequila, that you can let your limbs move freely, energized by the friction of nearby bodies. The flashing lights light up Quinn's face, and you watch as she closes her eyes and sways her hips to the beat.

You spot Kurt nearby as he dances close with a boy who resembles a tattooed and bearded version of Blaine. You know he'll groan an "I knoooow," about it in the morning. For now, he just mouths, "OH MY GOD!" as the guy leans in and kisses his neck. You just give him a thumbs up and laugh.

You jump when you feel someone take your hand. You laugh as Maria twirls you. She pulls you closer, and you continue to sway to the music. She's the same height as you, so you realize you're really close when you feel her breath on your face. You gulp, taking a step back, knowing Quinn would not appreciate this.

Maria puts her hands on your hips and leans in, "Your friend always this bad of a wingwoman?" she says, her voice barely traveling the short distance over the music.

"She's not-"

"Could you get your hands off my girlfriend?" All gold, all fierceness. There's nothing even pretending to be friendly in Quinn's facial expression or voice.

"Just dancing," Maria says, lifting her hands from your waist and holding them up in mock surrender.

"Hey, _puta_! Damn right your hands don't belong on my girl's berries!"

"Oh dear god," you say to yourself, but it's drowned out by the music. You watch a very drunk Santana appear by Quinn's side.

"Excuse me? This is none of your business, bitch!" she shouts over the music. You realize Maria doesn't know who Santana is and that this whole situation could end up being a mess.

"Sorry, my friend's dru-" you attempt, but Quinn is holding Santana back, who is shouting something about "shutting down all her business" and some other things in Spanish you can't make out.

"Just get lost," Quinn says, motioning as if threatening to unleash Santana on her.

Maria just shakes her head and walks off to rejoin her friends.

"Great, so much for making new friends at NYADA!" you say, rolling your eyes at Quinn as she lets go of Santana.

"That's right, bitch!" Santana shouts after Maria, but she's losing her voice and you could barely hear her from a foot away. "Walk away!"

"Who needs her?" Quinn says, giving you a devilish smile and pulling you into her, "You got me."

You tilt your head up to kiss Quinn, but it's brief because Santana's voice cuts back in. You look to your side and see Kurt pulling Santana by the arm. "If I see that bitch on the street-"

"Annnnd, this is when I take Santana home," Kurt says, obviously the most sober of the group.

"What about beard boy?"

"I feel like I exfoliated with sandpaper," Kurt says, wincing as he touches his cheek with his free hand.

"Right, Kurt?" Santana says, suddenly heavily leaning into Kurt.

"Yeah, we'll be home a bit after you," you say, watching as Santana sways off beat.

"C'mon, babe, let's get you home," Kurt says, putting his arm around Santana and leading her toward the exit.

"Where were we?" you say, turning back to Quinn who's staring at you with blown pupils. You grin as she presses her hips to yours, guiding yours with equal parts grace and sexual drive. She places open mouthed kisses along your neck and presses her thigh between your legs. You moan, and you know she felt the vibration against her lips when you feel a breathy laugh. "Are you trying to mark your territory?" you ask when you feel her bite and suck the skin beneath your ear.

"Maybe."

"Just so you know, I normally find jealousy to be an unhealthy relationship quality."

"Her hands were all over you," Quinn says, her eyes looking over her shoulder to glare briefly at Maria and her friends. A few seconds later, Quinn's hands slip from your waist to your ass, giving it a tight squeeze, pressing her thigh into you again.

You fight down a moan and say, "She didn't know."

"You're mine."

"See, possessiveness can lead to unnecessary aggression," you say, laughing as you point at her and poke her nose. You're about to continue a lecture, but Quinn just grabs your hand and drags you away from the dance floor.

"Quinn-"

She shuts you up when she practically pushes you into one of the single bathrooms, following you in and locking the door behind her.

"You can't be seri-" Your debates about the unsanitary nature of such an escapade quickly get lost when Quinn's mouth covers yours, and you cannot fathom how her tongue can taste so sweet and citrusy after all the beer.

"So possessiveness has its benefits," you confess as Quinn trails her lips down your neck and presses you against the graffitied wall of the bathroom, using her knee to spread your legs. "But I refuse to be objectified-"

"Jesus, Rach, just shut up for a second," Quinn practically snarls.

You are going to retort, but Quinn's hand has slid up your skirt and is pressing through your underwear, rubbing your clit. "Holy shit," you breathe out instead. When her hand slips into your panties and strokes you, your hips jolt forward to meet her and you find yourself muttering, "I'm yours. I'm so yours."

"Mine," Quinn husks against your neck, biting the skin beneath her lips as she slips a finger inside you.

You're moaning, feeling everything – Quinn's ragged breathing on your sweat-slicked skin, her fingers inside you, curling so she hits that spot that makes you rasp out her name like some final wish. You can feel the tightness growing in your lower abdomen when a hard knock at the door disrupts Quinn's movements.

"Don't stop," you whisper semi-panicked, now unable to stop, moving your hips to urge her to continue.

Quinn looks to the door to check the lock before turning back to you with a smirk, like some cunning lioness with her bright eyes and mussed mane. She leans back in to kiss you, but before your lips can even meet, there's another set of loud knocks at the door.

"Bitches!" whines a voice on the other side, "My girl's about to puke out here! Do your coke later or speed it up! It don't take that long to powder your nose!"

You groan when Quinn removes her hand from under your skirt.

"Cab. Now," she says, unlocking the door and leading you out. Sure enough, a blonde rushes by you and you soon hear her retching as her friend consoles her.

* * *

"Quinn," you breathe, her tongue tracing the shell of your ear, "I need. Keys. I. I'm unlocking the door." Quinn just chuckles in your ear as she begins to unbutton your blouse.

When you finally manage to get the door open, you both practically fall into the apartment. You hardly have the time to lock the door behind you when Quinn's lips are on yours.

"While the bathroom was good," you say between kisses, your fingers fumbling to find the bottom of her shirt, "This is better."

"_Way _better," Quinn agrees, skimming her fingers over your ass before letting them trace a trail over the lace border of your underwear.

You finally manage to pull away from Quinn to pull of her shirt as you both kick off your shoes, stumbling your way to the bedroom. Quinn's back thuds loudly against your bedroom door as you kiss her neck and collarbone, undoing the button of her jeans. She slides her hands down your arms, removing your blouse and letting it fall from your shoulders.

You laugh as you open the door and Quinn hops around, pulling off her jeans as quickly as she can, while trying to be sober enough to keep her balance. Once again, you envy her grace, even when she's tipsy and undressing herself. She eventually gives up and sits at the edge of your bed and pulls the jeans from her feet. You unzip your skirt and let it drop as Quinn looks at you standing in front of her.

"_God_," she says with a mix between a groan and a growl. "You've been wearing that all night?"

You nod as you bite your bottom lip, feeling more turned on as Quinn looks you over with blown pupils. You knew she'd appreciate the deep purple lace bra and underwear you purchased for this very occasion. She stands and pulls you toward her, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. There's tongue and teeth and sighs and moans while she runs her hands over all the lace, sending vibrations throughout your body.

She turns you around and presses down on your shoulders, getting you to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I… wanted to try something," she whispers between kisses, biting back a moan when you slip your thigh between her legs.

"Okay."

The dim light of the room makes it hard to tell, but she seems hesitant. When she crawls onto the bed and positions herself behind you, you notice that she must have moved your bedroom mirror at some point before leaving for the night. The full-length mirror is positioned beside your bed, in front of you. She looks at your through the reflection as she spreads her legs on either side of you, pressing her chest against your back. You're mesmerized by how dark her eyes are as she slides her hands around your waist, trailing her hands down the insides of your thighs to part your legs.

"Just watch," she whispers in your ear, letting her tongue lick your jawline beneath your earlobe.

And you do. You can't take your eyes off the mirror as she skims her fingers along the inside of your thighs, letting them dance around the lace border of your panties. You're trembling as she places kisses along your shoulder, every once in a while making eye contact with you in the mirror. She manages to slip out of her bra in one swift movement, and you sigh when you feel her breasts press against your back. While one hand continues to tease you between your legs, the other traces a path up your stomach and sternum before disappearing to unclasp your bra. You slowly remove it, and you watch as Quinn's eyes look you over in the mirror.

"God, you're perfect," she says in a low voice, a hand coming up to caress your right breast. You fight back a chill when you feel her touch, and then suddenly you feel as if you're on fire. "You're the most gorgeous woman anyone could dream of," she continues, kissing just behind your ear as she runs a single finger up the seam of your now wet lace panties.

"And I'm all yours," you say with a chuckle.

"Mhm," she hums before biting the side of your neck at the same time she slips her fingers under lace.

"Oh, god," you gasp.

Maybe it's because you got used to an empty apartment or maybe it's because your head is still swimming from the tequila and beer, but you can't bite your tongue before Quinn's name repeatedly leaves your mouth as her fingers continue to slide in and out of you as you watch it all in the mirror, see her eyes flash as she kisses your shoulder and watches you.

You almost whimper when she pulls her hand away, but she pushes your panties to the side and uses her other hand to guide yours to hold it. A loud moan escapes you when she enters you again, this time letting her thumb find your clit. Now that your eyes have adjusted, you can see everything: the way her fingers move into you and against you, your heaving chest, her city-lit hazel eyes, the way she licks her lips as her eyes move from her hands to your face.

"I love watching you like this," Quinn whispers in your ear, her free hand circling a hardened nipple before pinching it. "Feeling you like this."

When your hips cant back involuntarily, you hear a low rumbling moan leave Quinn, and that's all it takes before you're coming.

Your legs continue to shake, and you loosen your grip around Quinn. You apparently threw your arm back, grabbing the back of Quinn's neck, holding her against you as your orgasm coursed through your body.

"Sorry," you say, patting down the back of her hair that got ruffled by your fingers.

Quinn chuckles, kissing your shoulder before sliding her hand out from your underwear. You hum, waiting for the trembling to stop as you regain your breath.

Once you do, you turn around to properly kiss her, and you feel your face flush when her hands hold your waist and you feel her wet fingers. You nip at her bottom lip before whispering, "My turn."

"All yours," she says, her eyes taking you in as you stand – as if she's never seen you naked before and it makes you feel more beautiful than the stage ever has. Part of you is terrified when you think that you'd give up the limelight for green with flecks of gold in a heartbeat.

She lifts her hips as you pull off her underwear, and you lick your lips and hold back a moan when you feel they're wet. You grab under her knees and pull her to the edge of the bed before getting on your knees on the floor.

"Rach-"

"Shhh," you hush, "Just watch."

You place light kisses along the inside of her thighs and you can feel her legs shake as she resists thrusting her hips toward your mouth. You place one of her legs over your shoulder and you feel her toes curl along your back as you breathe against her center. You lightly run your tongue through her folds before placing a small kiss on her clit.

"Holy shit," Quinn breathes. You look up at her and see her clenching her eyes shut before opening them, looking first in the mirror before down at you.

You smile, repeating the motion, humming at the taste of her.

"F_uck_, Rach," Quinn moans loudly, her voice cracking. You see the muscles of her forearms flex as her hands clench the bed sheets at her sides when you slide two fingers into her and flick your tongue against her clit. You continue this, finding a rhythm as Quinn pants, running a hand through your hair, nails against your scalp, cursing with what's left of her hoarse voice. You press an open mouthed kiss to her clit and hum while curling your fingers.

You feel her walls clench against you, and she repeats, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," at a rapid pace before she lets out a long moan of your name and her body quakes. She falls back on your bed, and you stand, admiring the rise and fall of her naked chest. She lifts her head to look at you, "C'mere," she mumbles.

You slowly crawl on top of her, kissing your way up her body from her stomach, enjoying the feel of dancing muscles beneath your lips. Eventually you let yourself lie down – half of your weight on her, half on the bed as you tangle your legs and arms together.

"You're incredible," you murmur into her shoulder.

"You know," Quinn says with a little shrug, her breath still uneven, "King of Pride Rock."

You chuckle as you prop yourself up on an elbow, using your other hand to play with her short locks. "You do look like a wild animal with this hair," you say with a smile.

Quinn grins back, her breathing now steady. She bares her teeth and growls before rolling over and pinning you to the bed, "Rawr!"

"My Lion Quinn," you say, cupping her face between your hands, lifting your head to softly press your lips to hers. "I'm so yours."

"And you'll always have me," Quinn says.

"_And_," you say, lifting your thigh to meet her wet center, "we have _all night_."

Another growl escapes Quinn before she presses you into the mattress and her lips and tongue and teeth mark their way down your body.

You each come at least twice more before you fall asleep, all tangled, sweaty limbs and messy hair and entwined fingers. You've long since memorized her life and love lines, but you fall asleep reading the spaces between them.

* * *

"Good morning," you say with a smile, walking into the kitchen to make some tea. You're fairly confident you sweat out your hangover with Quinn last night. Or it was the shower you took together fifteen minutes ago.

"I heard enough of your voice last night," Santana grumbles, holding her head in one hand, cradling a giant coffee mug in the other. "I don't know what hurts worse, my head or my bank account."

"At least in France I couldn't understand what they're yelling," Kurt adds, bags under his eyes as he stares at his French press.

You're about to debate the importance of a healthy sexual relationship, but Santana's phone goes off and Kurt winces at the loud sound.

"Be right back," Santana says, standing abruptly and leaving the kitchen.

"Brittany," Quinn says as she enters the kitchen.

"Hi," you say quietly as she walks over, kissing you softly.

"Hi," she says with a bright smile.

"I'm right here," Kurt says, somehow finding sunglasses in the meantime and pouring himself some coffee. "I'm never drinking tequila again. I also vote that Santana never drinks tequila again."

"I think Quinn and I should _always_ have tequila," you say, giving the blonde a wink.

"Amendment: No one in this apartment is ever having tequila again," Kurt says, taking a big gulp of his coffee.

Santana returns from her phone call with a bright smile. Everyone looks at her skeptically.

"Why are you smiling like that? You look demonic," Kurt says, equal parts sass and fear in his tone.

"Britts got accepted, and guess who's coming to visit to look for apartments next week?"

"That's so exciting!" Rachel comments, jumping up and hugging Santana, "That means you and Britt can… Oh."

"Damn _right_! You best get some earplugs, Berry," Santana says, laughing as she struts off to her room.

You look at Quinn for sympathy, but she merely shrugs, "I mean… we have been pretty loud," she says, taking bread out of the cupboard to make toast.

You sigh resolutely and fill up the kettle to make tea. "You wanna come with me to get earplugs later?"

"Anywhere you'd like," Quinn says, wrapping her arms around you from behind.

"I need to get laid," Kurt says with a tired sigh before walking off to his room.

You barely acknowledge Kurt when Quinn strokes your cheek and looks at you, her eyes all calm tides with golden sunlight reflecting back at you. "I have to work the rest of the week, but if you don't have auditions next weekend, you want to come to New Haven?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. My tiny, twin bed will be waiting for you."

"At least you have live in a single for summer housing," you say, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Maybe next summer I'll have my own apartment," she says. You smile at the idea of her walking around her apartment like she did when Kurt and Santana were away – dressed in a t-shirt and underwear, cooking you breakfast or cuddling on the couch.

"We can hope."

"I promise not to be so possessive, but… I'm so glad I have you in my life," Quinn says, pressing her cheek to yours as she embraces you tightly.

"Occasional possessiveness is… hot… and acceptable," you say, smiling when you feel her laugh against you. "But I'm glad I have you in my life, too."

"I love you," she whispers into your ear. While the two of you can be rather loud in different circumstances, you like when she says things like they're a secret. It's not that she wants to hide it, but that it only matters if you hear it – like you're the only person in the world she could say these words to.

"I love you, too."

You're kissing when Kurt walks back in to refill his coffee. He throws a couple shirts at you, and you laugh when you see it's your shirts from the night before that were shed somewhere in the apartment. He eventually shoos you both out of the kitchen, and you happily fall back into bed together, lips finding each other, hands pressed palm to palm. You both fall asleep into the lazy summer afternoon, drawing love letters into each other's hands, reading them aloud in whispered repetitions: _I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

the end.


End file.
